


I Don’t Want To, (But I Love You)

by kon_anima



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Blood and Injury, Damian Wayne Has Issues, Domestic Violence, Future Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, PLEASE READ THE TAGS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, So much angst, jon baby i’m so sorry i made u a bad person, why do i hurt my favs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25962016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kon_anima/pseuds/kon_anima
Summary: “I could have stopped him,” Damian’s voice croaks out of nowhere. It’s a weak, broken statement. “Father always taught us to keep Kryptonite close by.”“Why didn’t you use it?”Damian doesn’t answer.(under a small hiatus)
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Jon Lane Kent/Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Comments: 47
Kudos: 268





	1. Tim

**Author's Note:**

> okay before anyone yells at me:
> 
> **I DO NOT AT ALL HATE JON KENT IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM.**
> 
> he is a baby and i love him so much, i just made him a meanie for the sake of the story. this all just a vent about my own abusive relationship (that i’m now out of thankfully) so yeah. pls don’t kill me i know jon wouldn’t ever hurt damian in canon and he’s not abusive in the slightest okay that’s all thx goodnight

Tim was grateful he’d gotten his temper under control some years prior. If he hadn’t, he would have most definitely snapped into a murderous rage as soon as he finds Damian on the roof of his apartment, in his civvies, sporting a bloody nose that’s being pressed with a tissue and labored, wheezing breaths.

Instead of tearing apart the city in the sake of vengeance, he sits, and waits. Damian only looked up at him wordlessly once he arrived, then put his gaze back to the concrete of the roof, to his shoes that still had little drops of blood on them. He looks ashamed, guilty, _scared_ , and it isn’t Damian at all. He looks so much younger like this, as if he was still that little kid, silently aching for comfort and acceptance, that had arrived at the Manor ten years ago. It makes Tim’s insides turn into ice and he wants nothing more than to call up Deathstroke himself and give him his next target.

He doesn’t. He _couldn’t_. It would destroy Damian, even if that bastard deserves it.

The only sound around them seems to be Damian’s occasional sniffing, trying to put a stop to the flowing blood before it stains his shirt further. Not even the bustling city below them is loud enough to drown out the occasional coughs he gives. Tim wonders if any of his ribs are broken, if his lungs are damaged in some way.

He clenches his fists at the thought, careful to keep that out of the younger mans view. He decides he’ll call Alfred once this part is over with and see what he can do to nurse those.

Damian doesn’t ask how he knows. How he knew something was wrong and decided to come in the middle of his patrol. The answer is obvious — _We’re brothers_. It’s an instinct, a feeling that none of them can explain. It’s the same reason Dick felt a sting of remorse he couldn’t quite understand whenever he got a good strike on Red Hood before he even knew who the man under the hood was. 

_We’re brothers._

“I could have stopped him,” Damian’s voice croaks out of nowhere. It’s a weak, broken statement. “Father always taught us to keep Kryptonite close by.”

Tim tries to calm his breathing as subtly as he can, eyes trained forward, unseeing.

“Why didn’t you use it?”

Damian doesn’t answer.

Instead, he shows a small smile, and it looks wrong with the dried red liquid on his lips. Then, he chuckles, and it soon turns into a full-belly laugh. It should’ve been a nice, reassuring thing to hear, but it doesn’t hold any lightness to it. It’s as broken as his words were, and Tim dares to spare a glance to him. There’s tears in his eyes, the left one just beginning to bruise a sickly purple-yellow color.

Eventually, the laughter begins to die down, and Tim can make out the small sobs Damian tries to hide, tries to bite back, but its clearly impossible. He’s shaking all over once Tim puts an arm around him, pulls him close, and it’s a relief when Damian doesn’t fight it, just crumbles in his grip, letting himself cry freely.

It’s rare to witness this, it’s strange to witness this, but it’s necessary. This isn’t something he can just ignore, he has to let himself feel.

Tim says nothing as Damian wails into his shoulder, his ripped and bleeding knuckles fisting into the Red Robin suit, fingernails scraping at the logo in an effort to ground himself.

Either ten minutes or ten hours pass. Tim couldn’t tell. He only remembers his surroundings other than Damian and the horrible screams when the younger man coughs again, tears still streaming from his eyes but with no noises to accompany them. Tim lets out the breath he’d been holding, blinking away his own tears behind his mask. He squeezes Damian’s shoulder once, keeps them both steady.

“We’re gonna get you cleaned up,” he whispers against dark, thick hair, so uncharacteristically mussed up with the faintest smell of sweat and drywall. “And then we’ll go back to my place.”

He doesn’t add _for tonight_ ; over his dead body would he ever let Damian come back to this place. Damian makes no move to argue, nor to agree. He simply lets Tim help him to his feet and, despite Damian now being someone he needs to look up to for their eyes to meet, Tim can only see the little ten year old he’d met that long, long time ago. Now that they’re out of the shadows, Tim can see some white powder in his hair, and decides he’ll have to check with Alfred about treating head injuries, too.

Tim guides him back down to his apartment, ignoring the hole in the wall which matches the white powder in Damian’s hair, the scattered items on the floor and the shattered picture frames, and makes a mental note to pack some of Damian’s things after getting him in the shower. He’ll come back for the rest later.

He also notes, in the back of his mind as he sits Damian on the side of the tub and grabs the first aid kit, that he’s going to take Damian back to the Manor when he’s ready, take him _home_ where he belongs, where he knows no one will hurt him.

Not ever again.


	2. Bruce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i... didn’t expect for this to get so much positive feedback, it’s literally just self indulgent bs i’m— 🥺 tysm wtf i don’t deserve this
> 
> alSO sorry it takes me forever to update, i’m, as the kids call it, ✨clinically depressed✨ lol. plus in the middle of this i had a hyperfixation shift and it’s hard to get in the groove of other fandoms but now i’ve planned out about 95% of this fic and i’m excited about it again :)

It takes a week of gentle encouragement and understanding, which is so uncharacteristic of their relationship, but eventually, Damian agrees to step out of Tim’s apartment and come with him to the Manor.

His injuries are still noticeable, but nothing they hadn’t seen before. Once Tim had gotten a chance to look him over, he found that his nose wasn’t broken and two of his ribs were only bruised, with no significant damage to his lungs. Definitely not ideal, but it’s better than what it could have been. He had a small knot on the back of his head from where it had hit the wall, but it wasn’t anything serious. Tim cautiously helps him change the bandages on his ribs periodically and gives him the doses of painkillers he needs — a routine they knew all too well with their line of work.

That doesn’t change the fact that his left eye is still swollen shut and splotched angry shades of purple and yellow, or that the cuts on his knuckles broke open at the slightest of movement and had to be wrapped up, and especially not that none of this should have happened in the first place, but he’s just glad he had known to come and find Damian before something even worse happened.

If the bumps and scrapes were any more serious, Tim might’ve forgone the willpower to not go out and find Jon the night he brought Damian home.

Now, Damian is silent in the passenger seat of the car as Tim drives. The radio is off, and the only noise the whole ride there is the whirring of the air conditioning and the GPS signaling that their destination is up ahead.

Once Tim had pulled into the long driveway, he parked, keeping the car on as he looked over at Damian for the first time since they got in.

Damian’s wrapped hands were clutched around his seatbelt tightly as he stared down at his feet. Tim places a hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the small jump that Damian tries to hide. “You ready?”

Up until now, the only knowledge he had given Bruce was that Damian was staying with him for a while. Of course, it was questioned over and over, but Tim refused to answer exactly why. He knew if he did, Bruce would just be at his door within an hour, and it would be too much for Damian too soon. Bruce only seemed to relax when he promised he’d get Damian back to the Manor when he could.

Damian wasn’t happy about that when he was first told, and he definitely wasn’t happy now. Green eyes continued to stare downwards, blinking slow and looking misty. Finally, he shuttered a deep breath.

“What will he say?”

It hurts so much more than a yes or a no, and Tim bites his lip.

Damian shouldn’t be worried about what will be said. Tim knows that he knows, deep down, he shouldn’t, but he is. Shouldn’t be worried that he’ll be looked at differently, treated differently. All he should worry about is healing from this, being around family, being home again.

Still, he knows who Damian is. Damian is the youngest, the most impressionable, the one who’s supposed to live up to his older siblings. Damian is the kid that, until he turned seventeen and began treating others like actual human beings, Tim couldn’t stand. Damian is his baby brother, the one he’d gotten the closest to, despite how little they spoke before this.

It’s another regret that Tim has to push to the back of his mind, just until he could fix it in the future. He lets his hand slide off of Damian’s shoulder as he turns the car off, unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the driver’s side door.

“If he’s smart, he won’t say anything until it’s the right time.”

And, as undeniably smart as Bruce was, Tim still feared he would open his mouth too soon, say the wrong thing and send Damian running. As undeniably smart as Bruce was, he was utterly an idiot when it came to things of this nature.

Tim held his breath as Damian followed him to the front door, sluggish and nervous under his unfazed facade. He wanted nothing more than to turn around, drag Damian as far away as he could and just hold him, let him cry it out and not have to deal with the stress.

Tim wanted to, but he couldn’t, because this can’t be kept a secret any longer. Not if Damian wants to get better.

When they opened the front door, not bothering to knock as their arrival was already expected, a deep bark followed by the sound of heavy footsteps filled the large, echoey rooms. Titus came into view just a moment after the sound, running as fast as his older body could, looking ready to burst.

Damian immediately sunk down on one knee as Titus practically barreled into him. Damian’s smiling, weakly, even though he hisses through his teeth when Titus licks his sore nose. Titus whines, sniffing all over his owner, and Damian whispers something to him; something in Arabic.

_“I’m okay, my friend.”_

The Great Dane had aged well, earning only little patches of grey fur around his mouth and ears, but moved a little less than he used to. To say he was excited was an understatement, as he practically wagged his tail off and hopped around on his paws.

Damian had tried to take Titus with him when he moved out, but within a week, he had brought him back to the Manor, making Alfred promise he would keep him updated and take good care of him.

Apparently, Titus did not like Jon. Not one bit.

Maybe that was the first sign that everyone had missed. Tim wasn’t an animal person himself, but Titus had always been accepting of him, only ever growling if he got too close to Damian when he was sick, sleeping or hurt.

Now, Tim wonders if the reason Jon didn’t like Titus was because the loyal dog knew Damian was hurt, and it aches over and over again every time he realizes a new little. detail that he should’ve seen before — something that could’ve stopped this before it started.

“I’m okay.” Damian whispers one final time, scratching behind the large dogs ears as he stands to his full height. When Damian had first gotten Titus, the dog was nearly taller than he was. Now, he just reached his hip. Despite changes between them both, their relationship had stayed the same.

Loyally, Titus heels beside Damian, still sniffing him occasionally. He barked once more when he heard another set of lighter footsteps approaching.

“Damian.”

Like Titus, Bruce had aged gracefully, though that wasn’t saying much considering he’d always looked a little worse for wear. He had a few more grey hairs in his bangs, and a few more wrinkles around his eyes, but other than that, he was just about the same — right down to the ever-present stoic expression.

Damian cleared his throat.

“Father.”

Despite Bruce’s neutral face, it was clear that he was going through a wide range of emotions. Behind his eyes, there was confusion, fear, anger, sadness and another emotion that couldn’t quite be named — an emotion that only overly-protective fathers who saw their son standing in front of them, in pain, could have.

They probably would have stayed in that very place, simply staring at each other, if Alfred hadn’t come to stand beside Bruce.

“Master Damian,” Alfred’s tone is warm, gentle, but there’s a distinct edge to it as he quirks a sharp brow, studying Damian up and down. “What a surprise. Will you be staying for dinner?”

“Yes. Actually,” Damian shot a quick glance to Tim, flashing the smallest of nervous, forced smiles. “Drake and I were thinking of spending a few nights.”

When Bruce’s eyes widened ever so slightly, he rushed to add: “If that’s alright.”

Bruce blinked, eyes holding even more emotions than before — happiness, excitement, pride.

“Of course it is.” He said after a moment, voice a bit more raspy than before. “You know you’re always welcome. Both of you.”

After all of the pleasantries were out of the way, Tim offers to help Damian take his bag up to his room, which Damian accepts gratefully. Once in the room, Damian stops in the middle of it, looking around at the tall walls, covered in a light blue wallpaper. The easel he’d gotten for his twelfth birthday was still holding an open sketchbook, a few pencils in the holders sitting untouched. Beside that was his nightstand, just one framed picture resting on top of it — him and Jon when they were kids; Damian looking away from the camera with an annoyed grimace and Jon, holding the camera with a big, sparkling smile.

Damian trudged up to the picture, took a deep breath and flipped it downwards, hiding it.

Just an hour later, by the time Damian finished unpacking, they’re all gathered in the dining room, chatting idly as they ate.

“Dick said he would be visiting soon.” Bruce said as he cut into a piece of steak, not thinking anything of it.

Damian’s utensils stop moving immediately, a spoonful of quinoa nearly dropping onto the nice tablecloth when his hands twitched.

Tim swallowed, not knowing whether to look at Damian or Bruce as he grips his own utensils tightly in his fists. “What about Barbara? The baby?”

“Jim wanted to have some quality time with them both, so Dick said he’d just stay here for a bit. Especially when he heard you two were coming—“

“I need to be excused.” Damian pushed his chair so far back that it nearly fell over when he stood, dropping his napkin and practically spirting out of the doorway and up the stairs. Bruce watched in a shocked sort of confusion, opening his mouth to ask what was wrong, before Tim was up on his feet, taking the stairs two at a time.

When Tim reaches Damian’s room, his little brother is already deep into panicking, hands pulling at his hair as he paced the floor.

“I can’t— I’m not ready—“ “He’ll be crushed, I can’t, _Tim—_ “

Tim shook his head, grabbing Damian’s shoulders to stop his rapid movement. “He won’t be crushed. He might be a little shocked, but he still loves you. You’re still the same Damian.”

There was a silent agreement between them that Dick would be well more than shocked, much like Bruce. He’d be sad, scared, and above all else, furious. The only difference between him and Bruce, though, was that he was willing to wear his heart on his sleeve, and that could make this especially stressful.

“I don’t,” Damian gulped down some air, eyes still darting around rapidly as he shook. “He shouldn’t see me so...” 

_Weak_ , Damian doesn’t say. _Vulnerable, defenseless, broken._

“You’re not.” Tim shakes his head again, tears springing to his own eyes as Damian fails to choke down a sob. “Don’t say that, you’re not.”

Tim immediately pulls him into a hug when the sobs grow louder and don’t seem on the verge of ceasing. Eventually, they sink to the floor; Tim’s arms firmly wrapped around Damian’s shoulders and Damian’s nails digging into Tim’s back, looking for something to ground him. Tim presses a kiss into Damian’s hair, holding himself there and rubbing between Damian’s shoulder blades in a rhythm.

“We’ve got a few days.” He says, voice barely above a whisper, and he’s not even sure if Damian can hear him with how loud he’s crying. “All we can do right now is try to relax a little. I promise you, D, we’ll get through this.”

Damian shakes in his arms, presses his face into Tim’s chest. Tim closes his eyes, rocking back and forth with Damian pulled tight against him.

“We’ll get through this.”

* * *

Three knocks rap at Damian’s door later that night. Tim’s long gone, back into his room with the promise of being there if he was needed, and Damian’s been doing everything he can to keep himself distracted from both the photo on his nightstand and Dick’s upcoming arrival.

“Come in.” He says, distracted, as he begins to shade the drawing of Titus he’s been working on from his bed.

When he didn’t immediately hear Tim’s soft footsteps, or his habit of inane chatter, he looked up, heart twisting a bit when he sees Bruce standing at the doorway.

He looks the same as before, but again, there’s something there that he’ll never admit to. Specifically, it’s downright guilt right now, with his hands tucked into his pockets and his shoulders sunk a little.

Damian stood, discarding his notebook and pencil immediately. Bruce sauntered towards him, eyes intense and unblinking. Damian swallows when Bruce finally speaks.

“When did you get so tall?”

Another small, strained smile makes it’s way to Damian’s face. 

Despite how much he’d grown, he still felt towered by Bruce’s frame, and he wasn’t sure it was only because of their, (still large), height difference. Bruce had always been an influential man in his life — the man who, even with their differences, Damian strived to be somewhat like.

Because, no matter what, Bruce would always be his father.

Even with their differences, even if they hadn’t spoken in months, and even if he was the imposing Dark Knight that every criminal in Gotham feared, Bruce would always be his father and, sometimes, it was hard to remember that.

Damian relaxed a little as he looked down, then slowly, awkwardly, wrapped his arms around Bruce’s torso in a loose hug, sighing into it.

“I’ve missed you, Father.”

It was subtle, but Damian caught the way Bruce’s breath hitched just slightly before he returned the hug, a low grunt being his only response. They stayed that way for a moment, simply enjoying the content feeling surrounding them, before Bruce pulled back and set a sturdy hand on Damian’s shoulder.

“You know, Damian...”

In that second, all of the tension in Damian’s body returns. He prepares himself for the talk he’d been regretting, about Jon, about his injuries, about the connection Jon had towards his injuries. He expects Bruce to chastise, to tell him how he knew what he was talking about when he warned them all to be especially careful when dealing with the Supers, because they were unpredictable and prone to outbursts. He expects everything bad that his mind creates in theory, and then—

“...I think I need another of Alfred’s peanut butter banana cookies. Care to join me?”

This time, when Damian laughs, it bubbles up slowly until it’s echoing through the room, clear and sounds like him again. It sounds whole, even if he’s not quite there yet.

Without another word, the father and son make their way to the kitchen.

* * *

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says as he sets the mug of coffee beside Bruce, in civvies despite sitting at the Batcomputer with a deep-set frown. “Are you alright?”

“I could be,” Bruce grunts out as he grabs the mug, eyes staying trained on the screen in front of him, showing the most recent picture of Jon that he had. “After a talk with a certain son of Superman.”

“Oh? Would you like me to prepare your suit, sir?”

Bruce huffs a laugh at the obvious smirk in Alfred’s voice. “No. You know I can’t.”

Alfred hums, turning on his heel and heading to the stairs. “Well, someone will have to, then.”

That makes Bruce almost spit out his coffee as he spins around in his chair, an incredulous gap taking to his features. 

“Alfred, you wouldn’t—“

“Master Bruce, please, don’t patronize me.” Alfred chuckles as he climbs the stairs, steady and graceful as always.

“ **You** know I absolutely would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bruce: i :) do :) not :) kill :)  
> alfred: i do *cocks shotgun*
> 
> i guess dick’s next, oh boy 👀
> 
> ps i make pb banana cookies that are vegan and gluten free, v good, 10/10 (only adding this in bc i love vegan damian oops)


	3. Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually got this done as soon as i posted chapter 2 but i held it off for a bit for ✨SUSPENSE✨
> 
> i also got a job, woo hoo !! i don’t think it’ll affect the updates anymore than my own procrastination, and i have like 95% of this written in advance so that helps!! in the end it’ll be around 10-ish chapters long, since each batfam member gets their own chapter :)
> 
> (i’m still having trouble processing that ppl like this,,, like. what)

Tim’s anxious.

What can he say?

Dick had always been a little _much_. He didn’t mean to be, but it seemed it was in his nature to always be fully charged, always going; the emotional one. He was the one who would wrap you in a hug and squeeze you until it hurt, then apologize for accidentally bruising your spine. In a sense, he was practically the human form of a Golden Retriever. An extremely flexible Golden Retriever with a high IQ and a low tolerance for bullshit.

To put it lightly, Tim wasn’t confident in his ability to react to this well. At all.

He’d be arriving in less than an hour, and Damian was on edge. Despite what Tim had told him a few nights ago, it was just impossible to shake the nerves of what his oldest brother, his idol, would say, would do, would _think_ when he found out his little brother’s ex-boyfriend was not such a good person after all.

Tim, Bruce, Alfred and even Titus had been trying their best to keep Damian’s mind off of it. Tim offered to watch The Proposal with him, since that was the only movie they could agree on, but after one lovey-dovey scene between Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds, he looked ready to cry. Bruce offered to train with him, but his injuries were still in the process of healing, and Alfred put his foot down on that idea immediately. Instead, Alfred offered to teach Damian how to cook Tofu Shawarma, and that quickly ended in Alfred shooing Damian away from an upcoming fire. In the end, Titus had dropped a toy in Damian’s lap and, to the best of his abilities, played fetch with his owner. This turned out to be the best way to keep Damian distracted, as the boy and his dog found themselves laying on the couch, fast asleep.

Tim was currently pacing in the library, biting his nails in anticipation. He’d informed Dick much like he informed Bruce before — not to much detail, but enough to know that this was serious and he’d find out why soon. Dick had told him not to worry and, well, Tim couldn’t help himself, because Dick and Damian had always been practically attached at the hip. As a kid, even though he’d never admit it, Damian tried in every way to be like Dick, to be interested in what Dick was interested in, just to spend time with him. This, of course, wasn’t needed, as Dick just loved his little brother as he was.

Dick loved him so much that the idea of him not exploding in either rage or tears when he got here and saw the circumstances seemed implausible.

Just as Tim was about to bite off his own nail from anxiety, his phone buzzed with a text from said cause of his nerves.

_just landed! be there soon! :)_

This, Tim decided, was going to be the highest hurdle they’d have to jump. He just didn’t know exactly how yet.

* * *

“Hellooo!” Dick’s voice rings through the front corridor, ricocheting off of the walls, loud and clear. As soon as Titus hears the voice, he barks and jumps off of Damian, successfully waking him up. Damian groans, rubbing his eyes tiredly, but promptly shoots up as soon as he remembers what was going on.

As terrified of Dick’s reaction as he was, he had to admit — he was also excited. He hadn’t seen Dick in months, and that was way too long for the both of them. Damian doesn’t even get the chance to walk to where Dick’s voice is coming from before the gymnast is in front of him, all but squealing with excitement.

Dick doesn’t hesitate to pull Damian into a hug, though he is more careful than usual. Normally, he’d pick Damian up and squeeze him as tight as he could until the younger man was threatening violence. Now, the hug was tight, but it was light around his ribs, and Damian’s feet stayed on the ground.

Always the perceptive one.

“It’s been so long!” Dick’s voice is three octaves higher as he sways into the hug.

Damian laughs, weakly, patting Dick’s back. “Just a few months...”

“That’s a long time!”

Tim runs down the stairs as soon as he hears all of the commotion. Just like Damian, he’s immediately bombarded with a hug.

“Timmy!” Dick does pick him up, squeezing him so hard that Tim gives a little wheeze. He pulls back when he hears this, giving his other little brother a huge grin. “Your hairs longer!”

“Yours, too.” Tim coughs, his chest just a little sore. He’s smiling too, though. “Been busy?”

“Oh my _God_.” Dick spins around on his heels and grabs his suitcase, beckoning the others to follow him. “You have no idea.”

Dick goes on a tangent about how much has been happening in his life between Barbara, his newborn baby daughter, the police department and Nightwing. Both Tim and Damian are only half listening as they give each other a look from the side.

It was better than either of them had expected. Way better. There were no tears, no yells, not even an ounce of shock on Dick’s features.

And that, in and of itself, was suspicious.

It goes to show that Dick is mature, despite his carefree, happy-go-lucky nature. He’d seen things that the others had only caught glimpses of, witnessed death upon death, and has been through Hell and back. Despite being the one with the least addled concept of expressing emotions, he knows when and how to show them, for the most part — when it’s appropriate and when it’s not.

That doesn’t mean he always listens to that insight, though. Such as the hours spent over tears when any of his siblings were somehow in bad shape, followed by his infamous temper that could lead to God knows what.

So, as surprising as it is that Dick is cool and collected, it’s also not surprising. That doesn’t make it any easier to worry about when and how he will break.

After all, all actors break character at some point.

* * *

Duke calls Dick just hours after he arrives, while they’re lounging on the couch and reminiscing. Dick still hasn’t said a word about Damian’s injuries, but it’s obvious he notices through his actions. When he leans into him for a laugh, he’s not putting all of his body weight into it. When he pats him on the back, it’s as light as a feather.

It should be relieving that Dick didn’t go into hysterics as soon as he saw Damian’s condition, but it’s just got the younger two on edge. After all, Dick was an incredible showman, almost as if he was always in front of a camera. He could be completely fine on the outside and boiling on the inside.

Tim was just waiting on the pin to drop when Dick’s phone rings.

It’s Duke, and by the loud, frantic way he sounds through the phone, Tim’s skin breaks out in goosebumps.

“Have you seen the news lately?”

“No, I just got into town, why? What’s—“

“Turn it on!”

Dick scrambles for the remote. He turns to the Channel 2 news and instantly, the room falls completely quiet, sans the news reporter on TV.

“What happened?” Bruce asks as he walks in the room, glancing at his sons before turning his gaze to where they were looking.

A reporter is on screen, next to a very recent picture of Damian, with bruises and cuts on his face. The tag line at the bottom of the screen reads:

**“What Happened to the Youngest Wayne?”**

They listen in for just a moment more, as the reporter makes a speculation of gang-related violence, (of all things), before Dick rushes to click the TV off.

The room remains as silent as ever, the only noise being a whine from Titus at the bottom of the couch and the grandfather clock ticking.

“Dami—“ Dick starts, but Damian is already halfway out of the doorframe, breathing heavily. Tim wants to move, to go and comfort him, or do _something_ , but an intense wave of guilt is gluing him to his seat. Tim had promised him that no paparazzi was around when they left his apartment, and clearly, that had been a lie. An accidentally one, but still a lie.

Dick calls out to Damian once more before sighing, looking pleadingly at Bruce, but the man is as frozen as Tim is, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. Dick puffs out an annoyed huff and puts the phone back up to his ear. “Hey, I—“

“Listen, I’ll be up there in a few days.” Duke says, his voice low, angry. It was rare to hear him like that, and it stunned Dick just a little.

“...Alright. Have you talked to Cass lately?”

“Not in a few weeks, but there’s no way she’s too busy for this. Want me to give her a call?”

“No, I’ll call her.” Dick rubs the back of his neck, dreading having to tell his little sister the news, and also hoping she didn’t know yet, now that it was out there for all of Gotham to see. She shouldn’t have to find out this way. “Thanks for telling us.”

“Of course.” On the other end of the line is shuffling noises, as if Duke’s already packing. “See ya in a bit. Love you.”

When Duke hangs up, Dick stares at his phone for a second before looking around. Bruce is a little more grounded, but Tim is still the same — staring at the floor, eyes completely blank.

“Duke’s on his way. I’m gonna call Cass, too.”

“That’s good.” Bruce nods, and he sounds just as angry as Duke did. It’s clear to all of them that someone at the news station is gonna be fired, and Batman is probably going to put quite a few criminals into full-body casts tonight. “Damian will be happy to see him. Cassandra, too.”

Dick silently agrees, and everything feels numb between them all. Finally, Dick stands, still sturdy despite how much he looked ready to collapse. He jerked his head towards the stairs.

“I’ll talk to him.” He said, and then, in a lower voice as he gripped Bruce’s bicep tightly, “Make sure Timmy’s okay.”

* * *

Dick emerges from Damian’s room two hours later, looking exhausted and upset. Damian ended up falling asleep somewhere along the lines of his hyperventilating and his incoherent sobbing, tears still draining down his cheeks, and it makes Dick’s heart crack in his chest.

The phone call with Cass is short, like it always is. Dick doesn’t even get halfway through his explanation on why they want her there before she ends the call with a curt; “Be there soon.”

After all of this, despite simply wanting to curl up in his own bed and drift into his own fitful sleep, he makes a visit to his other little brother, who’s now sitting on his bed, looking ashamed in every sense of the word. Bruce had spoken to him, and he knows this because Alfred is currently upstairs, cleaning up from dinner in a frustrated manner.

Dick should’ve known Bruce would make things worse and, like always, had given him the benefit of the doubt, and it’s just one more thing that grates on his nerves.

“I swear, I made sure no one was around.” Tim’s voice is weak, watery and pitiful sounding. There’s no tear tracks down his cheeks, but it’s obvious that he’s holding them back.

Dick gives him a sympathetic smile as he sits down next to him, running a hand along his shoulders.

“It’s not your fault.” He says, and he truly believes it. How could Tim have possibly known? “You know how paparazzi is. They eat drama up like vultures in the desert. We’re just prey to them, not people.”

“This isn’t drama. This is so much more than drama.” Tim’s voice cracks, and he looks away from Dick, the tears he’s refusing to spill welling in his eyes and his tone bitter. “Of course they wouldn’t respect privacy, though. You remember what they were like when Jason died.”

Dick stiffens a little, and Tim immediately wants to apologize, wants to get up and run away and hide in a little nook or cranny that the Manor holds, but the older just shakes his head, still smiling a soft, tired smile. “You’re right. They wouldn’t leave me alone — not even a day after it happened.”

And now, Tim feels guilt over the thing with Damian, and what he said to Dick. Despite all of the fighting, a tear slips down his cheek and slowly drops off of his chin. He groans, hiding his face, and Dick just giggles. “It’s okay, Tim, really.”

“I know,” Tim grumbles into his hands. “I’m still sorry, though. For bringing it up.”

“Hush.” Dick giggles again. There’s a beat of silence, where Dick continues to rub Tim’s shoulder blades as Tim breathes deep, before his eyes are looking nowhere, deep in thought.

“How could he do this? He was the sweetest kid. What happened?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t think it’s my place to ask.” Tim takes his hands away from his face to wipe his eyes, then curls his arms around himself. “I’m sure Damian doesn’t want to talk about it, either.”

Dick hums.

“I texted Wally. Told him what was going on.” 

When Tim’s head snaps up, eyes full of fear, Dick rushes to reassure. “I mean, I didn’t tell him what happened exactly, just that Damian was hurt and that someone we knew was at fault. He couldn’t believe it.” Dick shakes his head again. “Couldn’t believe someone could hurt The Great Damian Wayne.”

“He’s not invincible, Dick.” Tim all but snaps, but it’s not directed at him particularly. Dick knows this. “He never was. He just tried to act like he was.”

“Didn’t we all?” Dick smiles again, and it doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s sad, just as watery and bitter as Tim.

The next few moments are filled with silence again, the two simply breathing, thinking, before Dick lays back on the bed, exhaling deeply.

“You think Clark knows?” Dick asks, eyes staring blankly again, now at the ceiling.

“God,” Tim runs his hands through his hair, putting his head between his knees. “I hope not. He’d be here in seconds, and I don’t think Damian could take that right now.”

“You talk to Conner at all?”

“How are you supposed to tell someone that their little brother is a monster?”

“He has a right to know, though.”

“Please,” Tim lets himself lay back as well, allowing his tense body to relax slightly, his arm laying across Dick’s chest. “If anything, there’d just be another news story. ‘The Fight Between the Billionaire and the Farm Boy’.”

The heartbeat of his older brother that he feels calms him slightly. He didn’t realize just how tired he was until now. Tim closes his eyes, eyebrows knitted.

“He told me he hasn’t been going to therapy for a while, so that’s another hurdle we’re gonna have to jump when we get to it. You don’t just recover from this by yourself.”

Dick continues to stare up at the ceiling, blinking owlishly. “Well, he’s not by himself.”

“Yeah, but...”

The words get stopped by the lump forming in his throat. The corners of his eyes are already getting damp again, and he’s so tired of crying. He swears, he’s never cried this much in his life. Not when Jason died, not when Stephanie “died”, not when Conner died, not when Bart died. Hell, not even when he lost his fucking spleen in the most painful way.

Then again, nothing like this had ever happened in his life. No one he loved had ever been betrayed in such a horrible way like Damian had. And, it was _Damian_. His little brother. The one he treated horribly, the one he hated, and the one he now loves so much.

“He needs to. Go back to therapy. Not now, definitely not now, but whether he likes it or not, he’s going.” Tim lets another tear slip down the side of his face, and then, nearly jumps a mile when he feels Dick sits up on one elbow to face him, eyes shooting open. He’s met with another one of Dick’s kind smiles.

“When did you become such a big brother?”

“I’ve been a big brother since he was ten.” Tim snorts, pushing Dick away a bit. Then, just like how up and down these days have been, his eyes look away again, no longer moist but still burning with the threat of tears. “Just not a great one.”

Dick practically melts. Easily, he drapes his arm over Tim, burying his face into his little brother’s shoulder.

“You’re growing into it.” He whispers, his hand that laid across Tim’s chest coming up to cup Tim’s cheek. “The past is the past. Can’t change it, so there’s no use in dwelling on it. Damian knows we’re here for him, and that’s all that matters.”

Tim lets his eyes close again, a shaky breath leaving him. It feels nice to just lay here, forgetting all of the problems for just a moment. 

Until, of course, his mind reminded him of more problems.

“Dick?”

The elder hums in response.

“How are you... handling this so well?”

At that, Dick makes some sort of huff into his shoulder. Then, he’s chuckling and, by the time he’s sat up, he’s practically cackling. Tim sits up, slowly, watching Dick with a concerned glint. Dick continues to laugh until his cheeks are red. It dies down, and Dick looks back at Tim, tears in his eyes now and, from what he says next, Tim isn’t sure if they’re from the laughter or from something else.

“He needs me more than I need to shower that Superbitch in Kryptonite right now.”

The room fills with laughter again, this time from both of the brothers. It’s not happy, or lighthearted, but in the end, Dick is curled up at Tim’s side as the two fall fast asleep. It’s content, and for now, that’s the best they can hope for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there’s a lot of crying and platonic cuddling in this bc i’m a slut for both
> 
> i WAS gonna make dick’s reaction more dramatic, but with what i have planned in later chapters, i figured caring eldest brother would be more fitting ;;)
> 
> can u guess who’s next? hint: tall, angry, white streak in hair, name rhymes with tason jodd


	4. Jason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF so i got a new job and a new kitten within a very short period of time and that’s why this is up a lil later than i’d like. it’s been daunting and exhausting, BUT i really love this story/jason so finishing this chapter was fun!! 
> 
> i’ll be putting this under a small hiatus tho, probably until the december holidays bc that seems like the only time i’ll have any time to write at all. life is verrryyyy busy rn, sorry! :(

Jason’s not responding to the message Tim sent him explaining what’s happened but, by the looks of it, he saw it, and he’s not taking it too well. 

Red Hood’s been particularly brutal lately with the bad guys he’s taking down. He hasn’t killed, hasn’t in a long time now, but they’re being left with IV drips and full-body casts. He’s showing no mercy, except for the little mercy of life, and Tim can guess why.

It’s probably the reason he decides to pay Red Hood a visit personally, clad in his own suit.

He’s able to track Jason’s location easily, and he’s there within minutes. Jason’s sat on the ledge of a building with only his domino mask on, his helmet discarded behind him. He’s clenching a cigarette right between his teeth and, if he notices Tim’s presence, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

He still has some blood on his boots from the last criminal he brought down, just a petty drug dealer.

Tim sighs.

_Here we go again._

“Hood,” Tim starts, but Jason zips his head around. Despite not being able to see his eyes, Tim can tell he’s glaring.

“Don’t. Don’t try to lecture me right now.”

Tim blinks.

“I wasn’t going to lecture you.” He says, daring to take a step closer, and almost regretting it when Jason flicks his cigarette off of the roof and hops down from the ledge to face him. Almost.

“I’m gonna kill him.” Jason says through gritted teeth. Tim doesn’t ask how exactly he knew who had did it, because it’s _Jason_. “I’m gonna break his fucking neck.”

“You can’t and you won’t.” Tim doesn’t miss how Jason’s shoulders roll, as if he’s being issued a challenge. “Damian doesn’t need that right now.”

“Damian doesn’t—“ Jason does a double-take and splutters like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “What he _needs_ is for that little scumbag to be scraped on the fucking pavement!”

“No,” Tim closes in on Jason, never leaving his gaze. “What he needs is us. Me, Dick, Cass, Duke, Bruce, Alfred and _you_ , he needs all of us to be there for him. He doesn’t need you bringing up more pain.”

Jason goes quiet at that, and Tim turns on his heel. Despite how Jason’s fists are still clenched and his jaw is still tight, how his shoulders are still fighting the urge to swing back and throw a punch, Tim knows he’s won.

“Damian would be happy to see you.“ Tim stops, turning to spare one last glint at Jason. “But you better fucking calm yourself first. I swear to God, Jay, if you show up with the whole vengeance attitude again, I will personally throw you out.”

With that, Tim is gone again, and Jason is left on the building, fuming.

* * *

By the time Jason manages to get himself under control, Duke and Cass are there. Babs has called a few times, and Damian had sheepishly taken the phone from Dick when offered, often wondering into the library to talk about mundane things for at least an hour. His wounds have begun healing a lot better with Alfred’s treatments, his eye no longer swollen and his cuts beginning their process of becoming scabs.

Jason feels completely out of place. They’d never been close, not as close as him and Dick, and not as close as he and Tim seem to have grown. If anything, all they’ve done is bicker and try to kill each other. Not to mention, the Manor still doesn’t feel like home, and it probably won’t ever again. Usually, he’s in and out, grabbing whatever he needs and talking to whoever he needs to talk to before promptly leaving again.

This time, as he stands in the front threshold, he has a bag slung over his shoulders. He follows the muffled sound of conversation coming from the living room.

Duke, Cass, Tim and Damian are all sprawled on the couch, chatting idly. They don’t seem to notice Jason.

Then, Jason’s standing in front of Damian and immediately, the conversation is interrupted by a stunned sort of silence. Tim eyes his bag cautiously, but Jason just throws it in the loveseat, not making any rattling noises that would indicate a weapon.

“What’d I miss?” He asks, looking over his siblings, who slowly recover from the shock. All besides Cass, who just has a little smile on her face and Tim, who seems pleased as well now that his bag is checked out and safe.

Duke is the first to speak up.

“Dinner. Alfred made a coconut-mango stew.”

Jason claps his hands together, and Damian jolts. It doesn’t go unnoticed, by any of them, but he turns towards the kitchen regardless, his teeth grinding just slightly.

“ _Great_ , I’m starved.”

* * *

Jason wastes no time after eating to go and find Damian. He’s out in the garden on the porch swing, watching Titus run around under the soft glow of moonlight. Jason doesn’t get a chance to speak before Damian does.

“Todd.” Damian says, not looking over at him. “Will you sit with me?”

Jason slowly makes his way over and sits. Damian’s face is blank, sans the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of his lips. It doesn’t meet his hollow eyes.

“Everyone is treating me like I’m fragile now.” He huffs a laugh lowly. There’s almost no bite to it, almost as if he understands why, but is still annoyed. He looks up to meet Jason’s eyes. “Please insult me so I feel normal again.”

Jason swallows, and he can’t help himself from staring. Seeing Damian like this made his blood run cold, out of fear, sorrow, anger and, mostly, concern.

“You were supposed to surpass me in height years ago but you’re still not there yet. Prob’bly because you didn’t eat The Walking Hamburger when you had the chance.”

Then, Damian laughs, and it feels like Jason can breathe again. It sounds normal and, for just a moment, Jason can forget just how abnormal all of this is.

“Thank you.”

They simply sit for a while, watching Titus and counting the stars, before Jason can’t take looking over at Damian and seeing his empty face any longer.

“Look, Tim told me not to bring this up to you or he’d kick me out.” Jason says with a roll of his eyes, despite knowing that Tim was fully capable of such. “But, listen, you say the word, and I’ll—“

“There’s no need.” Damian holds a hand up and, for once, Jason doesn’t argue with that. “I want...”

He sucks in a deep breath.

“I want to forget. I want to put this all behind me and move on.” He finally settles on, and he’s looking away now, eyes not seeing a thing as he’s lost in his own thoughts. “And the last thing I want is more blood on my hands.”

It’s like a punch to the gut, a slap to the face. Like all of the things Damian has go through for God knows how long. A lump forms in Jason’s throat, his voice coming out meek.

“That’s not who you are anymore.”

“Neither are you.” Damian says, a knowing smile taking to his face as he nods at Jason .“I appreciate it, really. For now, I just want to try going back to normal.”

Jason leans back against the swing, making it start to sway. He places his feet firm on the ground and makes a rhythm of the movement, once more gazing at the stars.

“Whatever you want, Demon.”

* * *

“Jay!”

Jason bites back a groan as he walks into the kitchen and sees his older brother, way too chipper for how late it is.

If Dick notices, he doesn’t mention it. “Want some hot chocolate?”

“If you’re making it? I’ll pass.” Jason walks over to the bar stools at the counter, taking a seat and looking at Dick cheekily.

Dick rolls his eyes as he passes a mug to Jason. “Alfred made it, you big meanie.”

Jason takes the mug and lets it warm his hands as Dick takes a seat next to him. He only waits until Dick has a whipped cream mustache to speak up. “So, what’s your plan?”

Dick looks at him, still with the mustache, confused. “Plan?”

“Yeah, with Mr. Incredibly Abusive?”

At that, Dick looks a little annoyed, wiping the whipped cream away. He shakes his head and turns back to his hot chocolate. “I don’t have a plan.”

“Seriously?” Jason scoffs, his shoulders pulled close and his entire body language going tense. “God, do you guys even care at all?”

Dick takes a slow, long sip of his drink, sets it down and, in an eerily easy demeanor, hums. “Excuse me?”

“We have to do something!” Jason snaps. He’s facing Dick now, with the elder not doing the same. His cheeks are a little red from his bubbling anger, growing faster and stronger the more he saw how calm Dick was. “We can’t just let that _monster_ walk the streets and get off scott-free! Do you even see what he did? What he’s _been_ doing?”

Dick doesn’t respond, which only makes Jason grit his teeth. “Since when does Damian fucking flinch when you get near him? And the crying, Dick, he fucking cries at the drop of a hat — it’s not _him_ , and we all know the reason why he’s like this, but we’re not doing anything about it! Maybe if you two grew some fucking balls and decided to protect him—“

“‘Protect’ him?”

“Yeah, you know, do that whole Best Big Brother schtick you two have going on instead of coddling him and telling him everything will be okay—“

“Everything won’t be okay.” Dick finally turns to face his oldest little brother. His eyes are bleary and glassy looking, though his voice remains steady. With that combination, it’s easy to tell that Dick is practically _livid_. “It won’t. He’ll be in pain from this for years, maybe forever.”

Jason swallows thickly, his breathing and heartbeat slowing down. Seeing Dick like this was anything but good, and Jason knew that well from the days he would come over and fight with Bruce while Jason was still Robin.

Dick never allows the tears in his eyes to escape, simply blinking them away with a sniffle. Then, he’s back to looking stern, almost _disappointed_ , and _damn_ if that doesn’t sting. “And you want me to tell him that? To his face? As if he doesn’t already _know_?”

Jason feels an emotion that he’s pretty unfamiliar with — shame. He’s ashamed for getting so angry so quick, for accusing Dick and Tim, for opening his big mouth, _again_. Before he can apologize, or at least change the subject in some form of apology, Dick continues.

“You think I don’t care? You think Tim doesn’t care? He has nightmares every night of him watching the life leave Jon’s eyes. _Every night_. And you know goddamn well he could do it. So could you, so could I, so could Bruce.”

And God knows Alfred could.

“You don’t understand how bad I want to do all the fucked up things that are going through your head. I’d love to.“

The things going through Jason’s head are illegal, immoral and satisfying, and Dick knows this. Jason wants to nod, or do something, but he feels stuck under Dick’s intense gaze.

“But what exactly will that help? Huh?” Dick huffs an annoyed laugh, looking tired with this conversation, with this situation in general. “They were together for six years. Since they were teenagers, Jay. Damian’s still processing and he’s still hurting, and he’s going to be hurting for a long fucking time. How will getting revenge help that? At all?”

Jason knows, deep down, that Dick is right. The younger sinks in his seat, pulling the mug closer to him and letting it warm his hands, wordless.

Dick lets the silence hang in the air for a while, taking more sips of his hot chocolate. Then, he looks at Jason once again, and Jason almost wants to cower at how alien the serious expression on Dick’s face is, not to mention his tone of voice.

“Don’t ever tell me I don’t care about him. I’m risking my job, my city, my _daughter_ just to be here with him right now. And Tim? He’s the one who found him. If it weren’t for him, Damian would still be going through this, too scared we’d think of him as worthless to tell us.”

By that time, Dick is done with his drink and returns the cup to the sink. Washing it out and not facing Jason, he gives his final word on the matter. “We all care, Jason. I know you do, but caring doesn’t always mean making a bloodbath in the sake of revenge.”

The only sound is the water from the sink running for a few seconds, before Jason takes a final gulp of his hot chocolate, as if to ground himself back to reality.

“Fine.” Jason groans after the sip, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right, okay? We can’t hurt him, even if he fucking deserves it.”

Dick nods, turning to take Jason’s cup to the sink, but Jason’s hand shoots down and grabs his before he can pull away. 

“ _But_ , we can do something, can’t we?”

Dick quirks an eyebrow at him, almost suspicious. “Like?”

“Dickhead, think. What does Bruce have?”

Dick honestly takes a moment to think, before flashing a grin. “The same amount of grey hairs as he has children?”

Jason rolls his eyes. Again.

“Money, dumbass.” Jason stands, and Dick can almost see the gears turning in his head. He’s using his hands a lot, gesturing at nothing, and that’s how Dick can tell that Jason either has a really good idea, or a really terrible one. “And what can you do with money?”

At first, Dick is completely lost. Then, it clicks, and he deadpans.

“You’re suggesting we take him to court.” It’s a statement rather than a question.

“I’m suggesting we let him rot in Arkham but, yeah, court will come before that.”

Dick bites the inside of his cheek. Despite knowing in his head it was wrong, his heart told him that was too harsh. He’d known Jon since he was a little boy, wobbly kneed and short, and it’s hard not to still think of him like that. It was even harder to think of him the way he was now, tall and broad-shouldered and, well, not the greatest person in the world.

Plus, what would Clark think? Would he agree that it was the right decision, or would he hate the Bats forever for putting his son in jail? What would Conner think? Would he hate Tim for this specifically?

Dick continues to bite his cheek, then his lip, then his nails, until Jason gets disgusted with the last habit and pulls his hand away from his mouth.

“Arkham... Not Arkham. That place is for murderers and rapists, not...” Abusers? It sure seemed like it was. Dick shook his head. “But, if we can convince Bruce, then maybe—“

“No need for that.” Bruce says as he enters the kitchen, making both of his sons jump. “If anything, Damian will need to know about this.”

Dick and Jason look at each other, a silent question lingering between them, before turning back to Bruce. Dick crosses his arms, eyebrow once again quirked up, suspicious. “Why’s that?”

Bruce seems to hate the words that come out of his mouth next, as if they’re sour on his tongue.

“Well,” He says, eyes closing with a heavy sigh before opening up to his confused sons’ faces.

“He’ll have to testify.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this probably isn’t my best work, i rushed a bit bc i know i can’t write more for a while :(
> 
> also, batcows not dead, just... somewhere else... on a farm... in kansas ;) i love foreshadowing. and i love jason and damian’s relationship just— *screeching* IT’S SO UNDERRATED

**Author's Note:**

> this was rushed but i’m in my feelings let me live
> 
> againiknowjonwouldnevereverdothisitspurelyfortheangstiswearillwritesomehappydamijonsoonplsdontkillme:(((


End file.
